


The Idiot's Guide to Romance

by theSapphireSky



Series: The Detective and the Pathologist [10]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: And Failing, F/M, bless, learning how to woo his woman, our idiot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-26
Updated: 2015-09-26
Packaged: 2018-04-23 11:58:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4875976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theSapphireSky/pseuds/theSapphireSky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How to win your woman: Some compliments, a bouquet of roses, and acting gallant. Sherlock thought it would be easy...</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Idiot's Guide to Romance

**_Lesson 1: Compliment Her_ **

_‘... go beyond the overused flattery of appearance. Pay attention to what she changes about herself and then let her know you’ve noticed the change and like it. Build her confidence in herself as a woman; attractive, desirable, and feminine.’_

Sherlock sat hunched over the bench, pretending to be utterly absorbed in the (empty) slide on the microscope stand, but never breaking his attention away from the woman fluttering about around him. Her hair piled in a high ponytail and not a trace of makeup on, Molly was now completely at ease with his presence in the lab, not even speaking to him, as if he wasn’t even there; a nice change from her bumbling and stuttering of years past. But eventually Sherlock began to miss the way she would blush at the briefest eye contact with him, the way her pupils would dilate and her breathing would deepen. He missed being the object of her desire. Because now he was in her shoes, pining after someone who seemed to be ignorant of his very existence.

And he was determined to win back her affection.

She brushed past him with a pile of papers and he caught of whiff of clean linen perfume tinged with the scent of formaldehyde and the lingering traces of lemon handsoap.

‘New perfume, Molly?’

She plopped the papers down on the table behind him. ‘Mmm,’ she hummed. He watched her reflection in the glass cabinets in front of him. She tucked a strand of hair that had escaped behind her ear and began filling out the papers.

‘It’s nice. Suits you.’ He smirked to himself, confident the smooth compliment would endear him back into her good graces.

‘Thank you,’ she replied distractedly, turning a page over and beginning the next one. Sherlock frowned at her reflection. There was no tittering, no blushing. Barely an acknowledgement for a compliment that previously would have won him several livers and a lung.

He abandoned the microscope and swept from the lab without another word.

* * *

**_Lesson 2: Be a Gentleman_ **

_‘...nothing charms a woman like being treated like a princess. So, kiss her cheek in greeting, hold her chair out for her at restaurants, listen to her talk about her day and respond appropriately, hold the door open for her, help her into her coat... find little things that make her feel special, then do them.’_

Sherlock shifted back and forth on his heels, anxiously waiting for the sound of footsteps on the stairs. Molly would be coming home from her shift in the next forty-two seconds and he was ready to be gallant and open the door for her, his hand already gripping the handle.

His ears perked up at the distinct shuffling in the hallway and the jangle of keys. He waited until she was just outside the door, before opening it wide with a beaming smile.

‘Son of a-!’ Molly shrieked as she stumbled back from the door in shock, struggling to hold onto an overstuffed bag of groceries that was now threatening to escape her clutches. After fumbling for a few seconds, she managed to keep it right side up. Almost. Sherlock was frozen in horror as the carton of eggs sitting at the very top teetered precariously before tipping over the side, crashing to the ground in a yolky splatter.

He stared at the mess, wondering when his ‘luck’ had turned so... rotten.

Slowly, he raised his gaze to her face, pulling his best ‘innocent puppy’ face. But it didn’t faze Molly’s anger. Her eyes narrowed and her lips thinned as she wordlessly stalked past him into her flat. Within ten seconds, she was shoving a bucket of cleaning supplies into his hands and pushing him out into the hallway.

‘Clean it up and buy me another dozen. And swear you’ll never pick my lock again,  _then_  you can come back.’ With a flick of her wrist, she slammed the door on him, leaving him to wonder how things had gone so wrong.

* * *

**_Lesson 3: Buy Her Flowers_ **

‘Who are those for?’

Sherlock ignored John’s question as he handed over a wad of bills to the flower vendor on the corner, the freshest, biggest bouquet of crimson roses in his other hand.

‘They’re for Molly, aren’t they?’ John teased as he hurried along after Sherlock on the crowded London street. The detective increased his pace in retaliation, smirking when John’s smugness faded into irritation as he nearly had to jog to keep up. ‘What’s the next step when this doesn’t work? Groveling?’

Sherlock shot him a nasty look and John laughed, a bit breathless as Sherlock once more sped up.

The doctor was taking great delight in Sherlock’s frustration over the pathologist’s apparently disappearing feelings. John knew for a fact that Molly was still deeply in love with the detective, but was wary and hurt after years of having her emotions played with. He felt she was justified in letting the man suffer a bit.

By the time they reached the doors to the morgue, John was a panting mess. Smiling smugly, Sherlock abandoned him in the hallway to regain his breath and burst through the double doors, a beaming smile to greet Molly, only to come to an abrupt halt, his smile falling along with his heart.

Her back to him, Molly was oblivious to his entrance, her attention caught by another man whom she was standing far too close to for it to be anything less than intimate.

Sherlock felt his stomach churn at the sight of her and Graham Lestrade, her hands between them, obviously touching the DI’s chest and his hands on her shoulders. Her quiet, hesitant laughter drifted over to him, barely noticeable over the rushing in his ears. The DI was smiling down at her, softly, and murmuring something unintelligible.

The flowers fell from Sherlock’s hand, landing on the floor in a soft rush of wind and crinkled paper and setting a few petals free. Gavin looked up at the sound and his eyes widened when he saw Sherlock standing there. His gaze flicked down to the bouquet on the floor. He instantly took a step back from Molly, who noticed his attention had shifted and started to turn around to look.

Sherlock immediately spun on his heel and rushed out the door, past a confused John, leaving the lovers behind and the evidence of his feelings on the cold, laminate floor.

* * *

Three pints of chocolate ice cream and an entire package of biscuits later, Sherlock was nearly comatose on the sofa, contemplating suing the entire damn romance movie genre for lying to him about the healing effects of ‘comfort food.’ The ache in his heart had not eased and now his stomach was betraying him.

Groaning, he weakly lifted his arm and draped it dramatically over his eyes.

‘Sherlock?’

He peeked out from underneath his arm at the soft voice. Molly stood in the doorway to 221b, her eyes wide in concern, the bouquet of somewhat mangled flowers clutched to her chest.  _Ah, this must be a sugar-induced hallucination. Best not interact with it._

Slowly, so as not to upset his stomach further, he rolled onto his side and curled into a ball against the back of the couch, burrowing his head into his chest.

The hallucination came closer, her soft footsteps careful as she picked her way through the empty cartons littering the floor. The coffee table scraped against the floor as the hallucination sat down. The crinkling of paper.  _She must have set the flowers down._

‘Sherlock?’

He lifted his arm half-heartedly and waved her away before tugging his dressing gown tighter around his body.

‘If you’re not going to speak with me, then at least listen,’ the hallucination said softly. ‘John explained everything to me. The book, the compliments, the egg incident… the flowers.’

‘Traitor,’ Sherlock muttered darkly. Even in his hallucinations, John meddled.

‘There’s nothing going on between Greg and myself,’ the hallucination continued. Despite knowing it wasn’t real, Sherlock’s ears perked up and his heart lightened considerably. Maybe this was the benefit of comfort food, eating until you’re out of your mind on a sugar-high, and you can hallucinate your happy ending. ‘We were looking at the body of Mister Damaclese, who died from a serious allergic reaction to cat dander, which is remarkable considering he has three cats of his own and had never shown any signs of allergies before, and I thought it might be a cover-up… and I’m getting away from myself, sorry.’

He smiled fondly at her rambling, delusion or not.

‘Well, Greg was still leaning over to look at the needle marks I found on the man’s clavicle when I straightened up and accidentally elbowed him in the gut. I felt so bad, but he hugged me and said it was fine, he’s had worse wrestling with his kids. That must have been when you came in.’

Sherlock ran through what he had seen and compared it with the hallucination’s explanation. It seemed to line up with both the scenario and the personalities of his two friends.

Too bad it was just a hallucination.

‘I’m not interested in Greg, Sherlock. He’s... he’s like my brother.’ The hallucination just kept going, toying with his fragile grip on sanity. ‘I... I love you, I always have. There will never be anyone but you.’

His heart clenched painfully. ‘I love you, too,’ he whispered. ‘I just wish you knew that.’

Suddenly, a small, but strong hand gripped his shoulder. He froze, then jerked his head around. He stared at the very real hand, attached to a very real arm, attached to a very real Molly, whose eyes were wide and filled with... happy tears?  _John warned me about those._

He blinked rapidly and sat up, trying to reconcile what he’d believed to be a hallucination with reality.

‘You’re real?’ He hadn’t meant it to sound like a question, but he was finding it hard to believe. The sugar was doing quite the number on his mental faculties.

Molly froze for a moment in surprise, then snorted, a tear escaping down her cheek. ‘Of course I’m real, you idiot.’

He swallowed thickly. ‘Oh.’

Then that meant... what she said about love... was real.

_Oh._ His heart suddenly felt lighter than air, the sudden rush of relief and disbelief rendering him mute.

She stared at him expectantly. Slowly, a blush crept up her cheeks as he continued to stare at her in dumbfounded silence.

Her hands twisted in her lap as she waited, biting her lip. Finally, she must have given up waiting, because she exhaled deeply and rolled her eyes with a smile. 

‘You can ask me out now, you know. For dinner, then an experiment or two? Maybe cap it off with a snog?’ She winked cheekily.

Sherlock broke out of his daze. ‘Oh, yes, of course, let’s… let’s do that. The dinner part first, since you haven’t eaten since breakfast.’ She blushed at his accusatory deduction. ‘Anything but chocolate ice cream, though,’ he moaned, his stomach roiling at the sight of the cartons on the floor.

She smiled sympathetically and stood, holding out her hand to him. ‘How do fish and chips sound?’

‘Bearable,’ he replied as he stood up and, taking her hand, immediately pulled her toward the door. ‘We’ll pick some up on our way to Mycroft’s office.’

‘What?!’ Molly squeaked in complete confusion he led her out into the street and hailed a cab, the sleeves of his dressing gown falling down his arm as he raised his other hand. To her surprise, a cab immediately pulled over. 

‘Sherlock, why are we going to Mycroft’s office?’ She hissed as he opened the door and waited expectantly for her to get in first. 

Sherlock looked at her innocently, as though it was a common practice for him to rush out into the London street in his pyjamas and dressing gown, dragging a pathologist behind him. ‘The final lesson: I need to get into his safe.’

**Lesson 4: Commit**

‘...in the immortal words of Beyoncé: boys, if you like it  _‘put a ring on it’.’_


End file.
